Past Evils
by The Cowman
Summary: A person's past shapes who they are, even if they choose to ignore that past. Barkin has made a good life for himself, but finds that his past isn't as dead as he thought. Ch. 5 up.
1. American Nightmares

_I don't own these guys, Disney does.  So don't sue me, you won't get nothin' anyway._

**Past Evils**

Chapter 1 - American Nightmares

            The past is like a fog.  It hangs around you, surrounding you so you can't escape.  Some days you can't see it and some days it's so thick you feel like you'll drown in it.  Right now was one of the drowning times.  Of course looking down the barrel of a gun would give anyone cause to reflect on their life.  Even more so when the man at the other end of said gun bears the distinction of being your best friend.  My eyes twitch towards a window as I hear the growing sound of police sirens.

            "Sounds like they're coming for you," my friend says, a nasty grin on his face.  "I can hardly believe it.  Steve Barkin; cop-killer."  I could hardly believe it myself, but it was true.  My friend lowers his head slightly, sighting along the barrel of the gun.  "Don't worry Steve-o, they're not going to arrest you."  The sound of the gun firing is a lightning bolt through my mind, illuminating everything that's ever happened to me for a brief moment.  I can almost see the bullet spinning slowly through the air as it flies towards me.  I catch a brief glimpse out the window at the night sky and wonder where she is right now.  Then the bullet reaches its destination, slamming into my head and tearing a red-hot path through my brain as everything falls into darkness.

**Two Weeks Ago**

            The dream is always the same.  I'm back in the jungle with my squad, resting at our main camp.  I feel like something is wrong, but can't seem to tell the others.  I look up at the sky, watching as red seems to swirl in from the horizons.  Soon the whole sky is a deep red color and that is when the shooting starts.  We grab our weapons and return fire, but the bullets seem to pass right through our attackers as one by one we are cut down.  I watch helplessly as the others are hit and I try to move to help them.  I feel the rounds tear through me and I fall to the earth, watching as my blood stains the ground.

            Someone appears, standing over me, holding a smoking rifle, and I look up to find the face of the woman I love.  She grins down at me, enjoying my pain as another figure steps out of the shadows behind her.  I want to look away, somehow knowing who it is, but find myself frozen as the face emerges from the darkness.  The face of myself.  Steve Barkin, smiling at the carnage he has created.  I try to block the image from my mind, but the truth burns through like a flaming knife.  I had killed my friends.  My doppelganger and my former sweetheart raise their weapons, leveling them at my head.  I always wake up just as they fire.

            Tonight was no different.  I woke suddenly from my dream, sitting straight up in bed, panting and sweating heavily.  This one had been particularly bad, in that it was more vivid and real.  Pushing my sweat soaked hair back I decided I wouldn't be getting anymore sleep tonight.  Getting up I went to the bathroom.  After splashing some water on my face I stood for a minute looking in the mirror.  I always hated how I looked after I had the dream.  Dark circles under my eyes gave me a haunted look that was reinforced by the paleness of my skin.

            I hated it because I didn't deserve to feel like this.  I'm not inclined to self-pity and I know that there are plenty of people much worse off than me.  Whatever discomfort I had, I brought it on myself and had no right to pity myself because of it.  Turning from the mirror I went into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

            I could have gotten a house, but had decided on an apartment instead, simply because I was the only one there.  I had learned early to be as practical as I could about everything and it had become a habit over the years.  One person does not need a big house.  It was the logical approach.  The apartment did have a small terrace, however, and it was there that I went whenever the nightmare kept me from sleeping.

            I walked out onto the terrace, bottle in hand, and sat down at the small card table I had put there.  Even though I had to work tomorrow I decided not to try going back to bed.  The rest of the night I sat in the chair, looking at the starry sky and watching as it slowly turned brighter with the dawn.  I finally got up, heading for the bathroom to take a shower.  In a few minutes I was dressed and in my car driving towards Middleton High School.

            I always feel very proud of Middleton High.  I got hired to the staff very easily simply because it wasn't a very good school.  Many faculty members only lasted one year before quitting, either because of the bad pay and benefits or because of the small number of students.  Because of this, I was able to achieve the principal job rather quickly.  It took a couple years of hard work, but things eventually started getting better.  I was able to convince the state to fund repairs to the building and updates to the classroom material.  Once the school was up to date more students started to enroll.  I also interviewed each potential teacher personally, only hiring the ones I felt were right for the school.  Now the school has a stable faculty and is rated rather highly in the state.  Yes, I was very proud of Middleton High.  Maybe the only thing I CAN be proud of.

            While stable, the faculty still wasn't very big, so I found myself still teaching some classes.  I didn't mind though, I really love teaching.  I had majored in education in college before joining the military and was grateful for the chance to actually become a teacher.  It felt like, for the first time, I was doing something worthwhile with my life.

            This morning I had a history class.  As I walked in I glance over the students.  I made it a rule to know at least a little about every student.  Jack Edwards was in the second row.  Edwards could be a bit of a trouble maker, but I knew I could count on him to settle if I put my foot down.  Near the window was Jennifer Kyle.  Kyle the smart type and could be expected to ace just about every test, even if she did get picked on a little for it.

            The only other students of note were Kimberly Possible and Ronald Stoppable in the back row.  Possible was a slightly above average student who had gained prestige in the school from her extracurricular activities.  Stoppable was your typical average student.  He always seemed to try, but was always limited to C's and B's with the occasional A here and there.  Stoppable could lose attention in the lesson and had a bad habit of bringing that pet of his into class, but I didn't have to worry about him causing any real trouble.

            One student, however, was not in the classroom, but standing out in the hall.  She was a transfer from another state and had just enrolled in Middleton High.

            "Alright everyone," I said, raising my voice above the din of voices, "before we get started today I'd like to introduce our new student, Sidney Wilks.  Miss Wilks has just transferred to our school from California and I'd like you all to show her how well we behave in Middleton High School."  This last statement was accompanied with a meaningful glare that swept the classroom.  Once I was sure that everyone had caught my meaning I opened the door for Wilks.

            I must confess that I wasn't quite sure what to make of Wilks.  In many respects she looked like a normal teenager.  Baggy clothes, pierced ears and eyebrows, and dark hair that was dyed a bright blue at the ends.  But there were also things that didn't seem to fit.  Her whole demeanor seemed older, the way she talked seemed to be crafted from years of experience, and then there was her body.

            Sidney Wilks was built like a brick chicken house.  Her shoulders were broad and solid and the small amount of leg you could see between her cargo shorts and boots was as thick as a log.  Lots of students worked out, but she didn't have the overly defined muscles of a bodybuilder, but the over-all thickness of someone whose strength was made by hard labor.  The kind of hard labor a teenager just doesn't do.

            I didn't think too much about it at the time though, figuring I'd find out the answers later.  Wilks entered the class and was greeted by the other students.  She sat down and class proceeded as normal.  After class, as everyone was leaving, she stopped at my desk.

            "Excuse me," she asked, "Mr. Barkin?"

            "Yes Wilks?" I looked up at her with my usual teacher scowl.

            "I was wondering," her hands fidgeted in a controlled fashion, "I'm kind of behind on the class and I hoped you might help me out."

            "That's what the advanced material was for," I answered, referring to the papers we sent her before she arrived.

            "Yeah, I know," she continued, "but I'm just having a really hard time with this.  I was hoping you could help my out a little out of class.  Just until I get caught up," she added hastily.

            "Of course Wilks," I always tried to help out the students who actually asked for help, a rare occurrence with students.  And besides, it wasn't like I had anything else to do.  "What time would be good for you?"

            "How about after school, around six," she asked.  She smiled and thanked me when I agreed.  The rest of the day went by uneventfully.  After the classes were over I went out for a quick bite before meeting Wilks.  She showed up at exactly six o'clock and we immediately began discussing the class material.  She said that her main problem was with the Civil War section, complaining that the book kept contradicting itself on the reasons for it.  I ended up talking with her for several hours about the many causes of the Civil War and by 9:30 she seemed to have a pretty good grasp of it.

            We decided to call it quits after that and we both left for the night.  I have to admit that I had rather enjoyed myself.  While she seemed to have a hard time grasping the subjects, Wilks was very attentive and eager to learn.  She asked lots of questions, many of them rather difficult, but very good ones.  The next night we talked even later and often veered wildly off subject.  By the fourth night history discussions lapsed quickly into regular conversation.

            It was at the end of the fifth night of "lessons" that I started to feel a little uneasy.  I was enjoying myself a little too much, and she was just a little too interested in my life away from school.  It was the day when she said she couldn't make it that night and could we maybe meet for lunch on Saturday, that the warning alarms really started going off in my head.  My every instinct and common sense told me to halt this whole thing right now, but somehow, looking at her right there in front of me, I just couldn't say no.  I curse myself for my weakness.

            Lunch on Saturday didn't involve any history talk whatsoever.  She asked me what I did before I became a principal, what I did in my free time, did I live in town or out of town, etc.  Stuff I really shouldn't have bothered answering, but did anyway.  The "lunch" lasted for three hours and I hate to admit that I enjoyed every minute.

            "Hey, Mr. Barkin," she said as we were leaving, "I just wanted to thank you for going out of your way like this.  I felt real uncomfortable in the new school and everything and you really helped me out."  She stood up on her toes suddenly, kissing my cheek.  It was a harmless enough action, but it lasted just a second too long.  I tried to deny it, tried to tell myself it was just a friendly thank-you from a grateful student, but as she dropped back to her feet and turned to leave her eyes caught mine briefly and it was clear that we both knew it was something more.

            I swore at myself the entire drive home.  Walking into my apartment, I threw my jacket and tie on the chair and grabbed a beer from the fridge.  Standing at the windowed door that led out to my dirty little terrace, I watched the sun set and wondered how I had let things get so out of hand.  All I had accomplished at Middleton could be destroyed in seconds just because I hadn't been careful.  I'm not sure how long I stood there, but when I looked up it was dark.

            I turned and set my beer on the table and shrugged off my dress shirt leaving me in my undershirt and pants.  I would get a good night's sleep and try to get myself out of this mess tomorrow.  Nothing real serious had happened yet, but I could tell from the look in Sidney's...... I MEAN Wilks' eyes that something could happen if I didn't do something about it soon.  I lay back in bed and closed my eyes, but decided to set my alarm clock to go off an hour earlier so I would have the WHOLE day to try and fix things.  I rolled quickly to the side to pick up the clock, and that is how the gun man who kicked in my door happened to miss me.

_To be continued.  Let me know what you think.  I'm tryin' something a little different._


	2. Land of the Blind

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**Past Evils**

Chapter 2 - Land of the Blind

            The bullets whizzing by my head gave off a high pitched note.  Death whistling a tune in my ear.  My pillow exploded in a cloud of feathers as I rolled off the bed.  The bathroom door was only a couple feet away.  I lunged for it, slamming and locking it behind me.  I rolled to the side as bullets tore through the wood like tissue paper.  I crouched to the right of the door, shielding my head with my arms until the shooting stopped.

            The lock on the door was weak and wouldn't stop him, so I frantically looked around for something to fight with.  My eyes fell on a bottle of bleach lying by the bathtub.  I leaned forward and grabbed it as the gunman kicked in the door.  Turning quickly, I threw the bottle at my attacker.  Startled, he raised his gun, instinctively firing a shot at the oncoming object.  The bottle burst, its contents splashing across his face.

            He screamed, dropping his gun and grabbing at his burning eyes.  I ran forward, punching him across the face.  He spun around and fell to his knees.  Not stopping to think, I jumped on him, wrapping my left arm around his neck and holding the top of his head with my right.  That old army instinct took over and I jerked his head to the left.  There was a wet snap and the man went limp, slumping to the ground when I released him.

            I stared at the body under me as feathers fell gently around us like snow.  My military days seemed so long ago, but I had fallen back on my old methods at the drop of a hat.  Turning away I forcefully shoved that thought away.  I had bigger things to worry about.  The man's gun was lying next to me and I reached down, picking it up and examining it.

            It was heavy.  A lot heavier than the stuff you can buy in the local sporting store.  There were custom parts attached that bore no company brand or serial number.  The bullets had torn through my bathroom door like it was nothing.  Rounds that heavy were not available to the general populace.  All this seemed to point to a professional, and professionals rarely worked alone, no matter what the movies told you.

            Knowing someone was probably covering the hall, I headed for the terrace, shoving the gun under the waist band of my pants.  Almost all the apartments in the building had the same kind of little terrace that mine did.  The one below me was only 10 or 12 feet away.  I carefully lowered myself as far as I could from the railing of my terrace and dropped onto the one below.  Thankfully no one was in.  I had to break the lock on the terrace doors and on the front door to get out, but I viewed it as a necessity.

            I quickly made my way to the parking garage and ran immediately to my car.  The gunfire that erupted around me proved that not ALL of my army training had stayed fresh.  I should have known they'd have someone watching my car in case I got out.  Falling to the concrete, I rolled into the row of cars.  Windshields and headlights shattered all around me sending glass tinkering to the ground.

            My car was only a couple feet away.  I rolled underneath the two cars ahead of it and unlocked the door.  I stayed low as I climbed in, turning it on and pressing the gas with my hand.  The car jumped from its spot and started through the garage.  I pulled myself into the seat, still keeping my head down.  For a brief moment I let myself think I had escaped, but the squeal of tires behind me proved otherwise.

            Glancing in the rearview mirror I saw a black car accelerating towards me.  I could make out at least two people in the front seat.  The one in the passenger seat leaned out the window, squeezing off shots at me whenever he had a clear view.  I turned towards the exit, breaking through the wooden barrier arm, hoping that they'd be afraid to chase me through a public street.

            They obviously didn't care as they continued to pursue me through the streets.  I made a sharp right at the next intersection, hoping they were going too fast to turn in time.  They didn't turn, but one of their bullets finally found its mark, blowing out my right back tire.  The car skidded to the side and flipped once, rolling back up on its wheels.

            Pushing the door open, I fell out onto the street.  I had caught a couple scrapes from the crash, including one on my forehead that was threatening to drip into my eyes.  I looked down street to where the black car was backing up to the street I had turned down.  They revved the engine and suddenly accelerated towards me, obviously intending on running me down.  I pulled myself to my feet, feeling a slight weight behind me.  The gun!  Reaching in back of me, I drew the weapon and aimed for the approaching vehicle's tires.

            I fired around 5 shots, one of them hitting.  Their tire exploded, sending them swerving into a building.  The car crunched and broke against the brick.  I watched for a few minutes to see if anyone would emerge from the wreckage.  Nothing.  The street seemed empty.  I see lights on in windows, people huddled in their homes, hoping their walls are thick enough to keep out the evils that howled at their doors.  Someone had probably already called the police, but I didn't want to stand around in the open waiting for them.  Looking around I recognized my location.  I wasn't too far from the High School.  I was afraid someone might still be at my apartment so I decided to head to the school.  Luckily I still had my keys in my pocket and I could call the cops myself from there.

            It took me about 5 minutes to get to the High School.  Running to the door I got out my keys and let myself in.  I had entered the first door I came to, which was on the other side of the building from my office, where I knew a phone was.  I walked through the darkened halls, my footsteps echoing through them.  The shadows stuck to the walls, creeping over them like old sins, trying to reclaim the brighter more hopeful school.  As I opened the door to the gym I heard something.  Freezing, I listened to the sounds coming from one of the locker rooms.  I made my way as quietly as possible over to the door, drawing the gun I had taken.  Edging my way into the locker room, I suddenly spun from behind the corner, leveling the gun and drawing a shout of surprise from the person there.

            "Mr. Barkin?"  The person in front of me was not one of those trying to kill me.  Her bright red hair made her as recognizable as her "hobby" did.

            "Possible!  What are you doing here?"  I asked her gruffly.  It was after 9:30pm and no students should have been in the building at this hour.

            "The janitor lent me his key," she answered, her voice a bit uncertain.  "I had some stuff I had to get ready for the cheerleading competition."  Of course, their competition was this week-end.  "What are you doing with a gun?"  She looked me over, taking in my appearance.  I was scratched in several places from the crash and the gash on my forehead had run down the side of my face.  Her eyes moved to my left hand.  I followed her gaze and found my hand shaking slightly.  I clenched my fist, willing it to stop.

            "Just ran into a little trouble," I started to say, but stopped suddenly when I heard the squeal of tires.  With all that had happened I couldn't bring myself to ignore it.  Making my way to the nearest window I cautiously peered out.  Two black vans were now parked in the parking lot and men in black suits and body armor had filed out the backs.  The guns they carried looked like modified M-16's.  They moved toward the school in a rough 'V' formation with one man at the point.  A typical military maneuver.  This didn't make me feel any better.  Military operations were almost ALWAYS more dangerous.  The right military tactics could sweep a building clean of hostiles in 5 or 6 minutes.

            Possible had followed me to the window, she gasped as she saw the armed men advancing on the building.

            "Who are those guys," she whispered, even though there was no way for the men to hear us.

            "Not sure yet," I replied absent-mindedly.  The group headed for the side doors, disappearing from view.  "We've got to get out of here," I moved from the window, carefully looking around the corner of the door.  Making the call from my office was out of the question now.  These soldiers would be going over the entire building in minutes.  I'd never have enough time.  "How did you get here, Possible?" I asked, praying she gave me the answer I hoped for.

            "My mom let me borrow the car," she replied, not able to keep a slight guilty note out of her voice at driving without a liecensed adult.  She didn't need to worry, I wasn't about to lecture her now.

            "Where is it," I asked.  She told me it was parked in the back parking lot, near the door.  "Great, we'll take that."

            "Where are we going?" she whispered as we cautiously crept from the room.

            "We've got to call the cops," I replied, keeping an eye out for any sign of movement.  "Those soldiers have probably already cut the phone lines to the building.  I know someplace safe we can call from, but we'll have to get to your car first."  Making out way to one of the classrooms, we unlocked a window and slipped out.  The gunmen were on the far side of the school so they shouldn't make it over here for a couple minutes.

            Staying low to the ground, we carefully made our way to Possible's car.  As we approached, however, something brought me up short.  Standing a few feet from the car was Sidney Wilks.  I silently motioned Possible to go unlock her car and get it ready.  Taking cover behind a dumpster, I got as close to Wilks as I could.

            "Wilks," I hissed, trying not to be too loud, "Wilks."  She finally heard me and turned around, hurrying towards me after I motioned her over.  When she was close enough I grabbed her, pulling her down behind the dumpster.  "What are you doing here," I whispered, leading her towards Possible's car.  For being so late at night there seemed to be quite a few students hanging around the school.

            "I heard gunshots," she answered, seeming confused, "I live near here and I was looking out the window trying to see what it was.  I thought I saw you running towards the school.  I...," her eyes looked away as if she were nervous, "I... was worried that you... I mean, that something had happened... to you."  Her gaze rose again to meet mine and for a minute I could only stare back.  Finally looking away I started back towards the car.

            "Someone's after me," I answered, trying to keep my voice steady, "I don't know what's going on, but we have to get out of here.  Possible's got a car; I know a safe place."  'At least I hope it's still safe,' I added silently.  "We can call the cops from there."  Once we were in the car, I revved the engine and tore out of the parking lot as fast as I could.  Trying to be sneaky didn't matter as much as speed.  If we could get out fast enough they wouldn't be able to get back to their van fast enough to follow us.

            The place we were headed was an old movie theater downtown.  It had been out of service for years.  The guy who owned it kept it around for fun and was a buddy of mine.  He liked to hold parties in it and he had given me a key last year.  Not many people knew about it, so I figured it'd be relatively safe to call from.

            As we drove I tried to think of who might want me dead.  This was a pretty good-sized operation and I didn't see who would go to this much trouble to kill me.  Unfortunately, my mind couldn't seem to stay focused on my problem.  I kept drifting back to behind the dumpster.  Thinking about Sidney's concern for me, and the look in her eyes as she stared into mine.  Love can be an oil pit.  You stand at the edge, looking down, telling yourself not to fall in.  Then one slight movement causes your foot to slip.  You turn and try to claw your way back, but you just keep sliding deeper and deeper until you reach the bottom and are swallowed up.

_To be continued..._


	3. Keep Your Friends Close

_Yes, I know it's been forever since I last updated.  Blame 'City of Heroes'.  I've been kinda addicted to that game for awhile.  But here's a brand new chapter for you, and I hope to have #4 done a lot quicker._

**Past Evils******

Chapter 3 - Keep Your Friends Close

            We reached the theatre without any further trouble.  I parked Possible's car in the back, just in case any of the soldiers at the school had caught sight of it.  The three of us made our way quickly to the door and into the large building.  I had planned on calling the police as soon as we arrived, but upon entering I suddenly felt very tired.  I fell into one of the theater chairs, running my hands through my hair.  For awhile we all just stood there, the silence pushing down on us like a heavy quilt; daring us to break it.

            "Phone's in the office," I sighed, finally standing from my seat, "better call the cops."  I moved toward the stairs that led up to the top floor, but was suddenly stopped by a hand on my arm.  Looking back I found Wilks looking up at me.

            "Wait," she said, sounding a little nervous, "what if they...."  She trailed off, looking unsure of what she wanted to say.  "I mean, those guys looked like they were in the army," she tried again, "what if they have some sort of contact with the police.  They could be waiting for you to call."  It sounded paranoid, but then, paranoid had saved my ass more then once.

            "She could have a point," Possible added.

            "Alright," I agreed, "I won't call the cops.  I DO know someone else I can call.  He might be able to help out."

            "Wade could probably find something out," Possible muttered, "I'd have to go back to my house for the communicator though."

            "Well, they didn't see you with me," I headed towards the stairs again, "should be safe for you to leave."  Possible seemed to be reluctant to go, but must have realized the importance of information.

            "Alright," she called, heading for the back door, "I'll be back as soon as I can."  She left, the door thumping shut behind her.  The sound echoed through the empty theater with a strange sense of finality.  Footsteps behind me told me Wilks was following me to the stairs.  Stopping, I half turned, looking at her over my shoulder.

            "They didn't see you either," I stated, quietly, "you should get out of here while you can."  Her mouth immediately opened to protest, but I cut her off.  "There's nothing you can do to help me, and I'm safe here.  Go home."  I turned back around, hoping with all my being that I would hear her turn and head towards the door.  Unfortunately, the steps didn't move towards the door, but in my direction instead.

            I continued to face away.  If I looked at her I wouldn't be able to think straight, and I needed to be thinking now.  But then I felt the small hand on my shoulder, gently pushing at it, and I found myself turning around.  Looking down at her, all my careful plans and logic seemed to fade into nothing.  Her hand on my arm slowly moved beneath it, snaking its way around my waist.  My mind screamed at me to pull away, to turn and run up the stairs, but her eyes held me in place.  Those strange, unreadable eyes that seemed to drill into me every time I allowed myself to glance at them.  The click of the back door opening broke the spell.  The hand jumped away from my waist, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit to feeling disappointed.

            "Hey," Possible called from the door, unaware of what had been going on before she entered, "I thought I'd better see if... ummm... Sidney?" She wasn't sure of the name.  "See if I could drop her off at home."

            "Yeah," I said, swallowing, "she'll go with you."  I said this firmly, looking back at Wilks as I did.  Her head bowed in defeat, and she headed towards the door.  As she went through the door, she glanced back over her shoulder and I caught her mouth the words "Be careful" to me as she left.

            I headed up the stairs to the office.  What I hadn't told Wilks or Possible was that the person I was calling WAS a cop.  He was actually the same friend who rented the theater.  I had met him right after I started teaching at the high school.  He had been in charge of one of the locker checks and I had bumped into him afterwards in the parking lot.  It turned out we had both been in the military in our younger days and we soon became good friends.

            "Yes, I was looking for Detective Jim Palo," I called the station first, in case he was still working.  The desk told me he had gone home for the day so I tried there instead.  It took some convincing to get him to believe my story.  Of course, I'm not exactly a practical joker, which probably helped.

            "I don't know Steve," he sighed into the phone, disbelief still lurking in his voice, "I just can't imagine anyone trying to kill you."

            "Yeah, neither can I," I replied, a little bitterly, "but I've got about 10 or 20 bullet holes in my apartment that tried their best to convince me otherwise."

            "Okay, okay," his voice took on a more serious tone, "just stay there for right now.  I'll look around and see what I can find.  I still think you should let me call the station on this."

            "Not yet," I shook my head, "these guys are real professionals, Jim.  There's probably a very good chance they've got someone in the station or at least monitoring the phone lines.  I'd like to keep it quiet until we've got a little more information on who these jokers are."

            "All right, Steve," he conceded, "but it all sounds real paranoid to me."  He hung up the phone, leaving a dial tone ringing in my ear like the flat-lining of a heart monitor.  An omen of things to come?  Shaking my head I headed back downstairs.  Thinking that way wouldn't help my situation.  Not having anything to do other than wait, I grabbed a beer from the supply that Jim always kept around, and settled into one of the seats.

            I'm not sure how much time passed.  I kind of zoned out, thinking about things.  My job, the people trying to kill me,.... Sidney.  Somehow my mind kept drifting back to her.  That look she gave me as she left the theater had dropped a ton of lead in my gut.  I'm not sure what it was, maybe just because no one had looked at me like that in a LONG time, but I couldn't get her out of my thoughts.

            The soft click of a safety catch stabbed through my musings like a spotlight.  I fell to the side as bullets tore the seats to pieces.  I rolled underneath the row in front of me, trying to put as many chairs between me and the gunman as possible.  The shooting suddenly stopped as quickly as it had begun, replaced by the soft pad of footsteps over carpet.

            He must have thought he'd hit me.  I watched his feet from under the seats as he moved to the row I had been in.  I waited until he stopped beside it before pointing my gun at the visible feet and pulling the trigger.  He screamed as he fell to the floor, his feet leaking blood all over the carpet.  I rose from my hiding place, placing two more shots in him without hesitation.

            I moved over to him cautiously, kicking the rifle away from him just in case.  He was alone, but I knew the others were most likely outside.  I should have moved immediately.  They had to have heard the gunfire and would be sending in more men to check and make sure he had succeeded.  Unfortunately, I couldn't move.  I was frozen to the spot as I looked down at the man on the ground, his blood slowly staining the carpet.

            An insignia on his left sleeve caught my attention, a large rat with red eyes and wisps of smoke framing it.  The sight sent a chill through my bones.  It was the insignia of my old squad from the army.  It was after a particular mission in the sewers of China.  A terrorist cell had taken to using the tunnels to move about the city.  My team had been down there for almost a month and taken out close to a hundred of their soldiers.  We were never once spotted by the enemy until it was too late.  News of the mission reached the rest of the squads and they gave us the nickname, Ghost Rats.  The name stuck and soon became our official call sign.  The insignia had been designed by Private Barns, the camps local artist.  I knew that symbol as well as I knew my own face.  I also knew that every member of the Ghost Rats were dead.

            I had buried my past long ago and started a new life for myself.  But my past had risen from its grave.  It clawed its way back into my present, and now it was reaching out to me.  Intent on dragging me back down with it.

_To be continued...._


	4. A Secondhand Life

_ATTENTION:  Don't click any links that may show up in this story.  I don't know how they're gettin' in there (probably something with saving it as an html) but I didn't put them there and they don't lead to anything about the story.  The one I checked led to some dating service.  Just thought I'd warn ya._

**Past Evils**

Chapter 4 - A Second-hand Life

            Looking at the soldier dying on the carpet, my squad's old insignia marking his sleeve, I found my mind forced back to that fateful day.  The day Lt. Steve Barkin died.  I suppose you'd really have to begin with our desertion.  It started as a mission down to South America, a little town called Guamaya.  It was a major route for drug runners and terrorists and the townsfolk would often suffer because of it.  We were sent down to try and neutralize the threats that befell them.  However, political relations with the government started to fall apart.  They started to resent the Americans who "barged in like John Wayne, trying to take over." (Their words)  Also, the situation in the Middle East wasn't helping either, and soon we were ordered out.

            However, we had been in Guamaya for awhile and had witnessed the troubles of the natives first-hand.  Drug wars and terrorist recruiting, whittled away at the town's population.  We felt that we were needed here TOO much to let some politician run us out.  After much discussion and argument, we finally all agreed on the same course of action.  Like the self-righteous idiots that we were, we cut radio contact and stayed.  We started a guerilla campaign against the drug runners, taking out shipments, ruining trades, and generally making their lives difficult.  And for awhile it felt like we were actually helping.

            But time has a bad habit of twisting things around.  Small actions and experiences are seeds that grow to bigger changes.  Ours came in the form of Juan Nimbori.  He sought us out of his own accord, never hiding the fact that he himself was a dealer.  He claimed that while he did do business in the cities, he agreed with our feelings that innocent people shouldn't be made to suffer.  Juan provided us with information on Naji Moru, a rival of his that ran merchandise through the area.  He provided us with times and places of buys and shipments.  We didn't really trust him, but took the information, which turned out to be very accurate.

            In about a month, Moru's empire was crumbled.  Nimbori thanked us by sending almost 100,000 dollars.  At first we refused the money, insisting that we were doing this for the townspeople.  He insisted right back that it wasn't any kind of payoff or anything, he simply approved of our ideals and wished to support our operation.  And none of us could deny that our 'operation' needed support.  A group of mercenaries, camping in the woods, fighting for the safety of a village may sound cool, but coming by ammunition and supplies was tough.  And while the latter was sometimes supplied by grateful villagers, the former was scarce and we were always dangerously low.

            So we took the money, never recognizing it as the first nail being driven into our dirty coffin.  Nimbori brought us more information, all of it good, and we took down quite a few drug lords with his help.  Then he asked for the favor.  Someone was muscling in on his territory.  If we hit their base down here, he would be able to regain control.  It seemed alright at the time, and of course there was always the money.  After that our fall from our lofty moral perch was swift and violent.  Soon we were doing no jobs but the ones Nimbori paid us to do.  I tried to deny it at the time, but the truth was inescapable.  We had become nothing more than hired guns.

            It wasn't long before the nearby rebellion, which had always left us alone up till then, started making objections to our actions.  However, our camp was mobile and in the middle of the jungle, so they're chances of finding us were low.  But safety is fleeting, always disappearing when you need it most.  All it took was one mistake to bring everything down around our ears, and I had the immense 'honor' of being the one to make that mistake.

            Being near the town for so long, attachments were bound to happen.  A couple of the guys had a girl in the village they would visit.  The one I met was named Neeri Maa.  She ran a stall in the local market were we would get most of our supplies and I would always stop by to talk.  I'll admit that I loved her, how could I not.  She was everything I thought I was looking for, and maybe that should have been my first tip off.  I don't really remember when I gave away the camp's location, some night when I had had a little too much to drink and a little too much sex I suppose, mumbling it out before dozing off.  The full extent of my idiocy still burns me today.

            I didn't even put it together as the rebels attacked our camp, picking us off from the trees.  As I lay on the ground, the gun shot wounds in my abdomen leaking blood into the dirt, I finally saw her.  Neeri, wearing the colors of the rebel group.  I had been set up easily, leading them right to our hideout.  I closed my eyes, hoping that death would erase the guilt.

            But I didn't die.  I woke up in the river, one of my dead teammates lying on top of me.  I crawled out of the water and made my way back to the camp.  I don't know what I hoped to find there, but it was the only place I COULD go.  The tents had been torn down, but the equipment had been stacked up a little ways off, probably being readied to sell on the black market.  Sifting through the pile I finally came across our old radio.

            While we had cut contact with the U.S., we had kept the radio intact just in case.  I didn't know what else to do, so I radioed in for a pick-up, tapping in the Morse code signal.  I got out of sight after sending the message, knowing the rebels would be back for their loot.  Pulling myself into the bushes, I tried to stay conscious as I waited for help to arrive.  The rebels DID come back, carrying away the equipment.  SHE was with them.  I watched her the whole time she was there, more than once contemplating running out and trying to break her neck.

            Soon they all departed and the sun began to sink from view.  As night time started to come on, I finally heard the sound of choppers.  I crawled back into the clearing as they descended.  As two soldiers ran towards me, I finally couldn't keep it up any longer and fell to the ground, unconscious.

            When I got back, I was questioned intensely by military forces.  The sudden cut off of radio contact had caused my team to be labeled as MIA.  My story was that the rebel faction in the area had attacked us, destroying most of our equipment.  I told them that the rebels had attacked us repeatedly until I was the only one left.  We had tried to fix the radio and I had finally managed to signal the U.S.

            I could tell that many of them didn't believe my story, but with no proof they couldn't bring any charges against me.  They did, however, ask me to resign.  I did so without argument, heck, I probably would have done it without them asking me to.  I was tired of guns, blood, and fighting.  I wanted something new, something good.  Anything to wash the taste of guilt from my mouth.

            So, I turned to teaching.  Got a job at Middleton and quickly worked my way up to principal.  And I had done a good job with this second life, if I do say so myself.  But now this ghost from my old life has forced its way into the present, and it looks like my new life might end just as badly as the first one did.

            I backed away from the body on the floor.  I had to get out of there, his teammates would surely show up any second.  Turning I ran back up the stairs to the office.  A window in there led out on top of the marquee.  Climbing out, I carefully worked my way to the edge, looking over into the parking lot.  Just as I had suspected, there was the same black van from the school, its windows tinted and no license plates on the bumper.  Had they followed us here after all?  If so, why wait so long to come in after me, and why let Possible and Wilks leave?  I couldn't bring myself to believe it was out of the goodness of their hearts.

            Turning from the parking lot, I climbed the ladder leading up to the roof of the building.  Making my way to the other side of the roof, I carefully made my way down the fire escape, cutting through the alley of the building next door.  As I neared the street, a bus was pulling up to the stop.  Running over I jumped on, luckily having some change in my pocket from earlier in the day.  Moving to the back of the bus, I sat down, watching nervously out the window.  Once I was away from the theater I sat up, leaning back in the seat.

            I didn't know what to do.  The appearance of this new squad of Ghost Rats had left my mind numb.  My thoughts seemed mired in tar, black and sticky, it slowed them down, blotting out the sun.  The whole world seemed black, the world outside the bus a dark barren landscape that would freeze me solid if I dared to step into it.  The theater was my last idea.  I didn't know where to go now.  I felt like just sitting in the bus for the rest of my life, riding with it until it dropped off the edge of the world.

            But you can't hide from the world.  It creeps around you, pushing into the cracks until you can't breathe.  Now was no different.  I had to think of something to do, some course of action to take.  I thought of Jim Palo.  He was supposed to be looking for information on whoever these guys were, and if he couldn't reach me at the theater, he would probably try at my apartment.  It seemed like the stupidest Idea in the world; going back to my apartment.  These Ghost Rats MAY have decided I'd never go back there, but I couldn't bring myself to think that optimistically.  I was almost sure they'd have someone guarding the door.

            Still, it was my only real course of action.  Now that I had learned that these soldiers were a new group of Ghost Rats, a former GOVERNMENT military squad, the thought of them having some kind of contact or surveillance at the police station seemed more and more likely.  No, I couldn't go to the police.  I would just have to try and sneak back in to my apartment and hope to meet up with Jim.

            I exited the bus at the next stop.  Getting my bearings I began walking back to my apartment.  It was a ways to go, but walking would give me a better chance to sneak into the building.  Plus I didn't have a car.  It was strange watching the late night traffic whiz by on the streets, passing the occasional pedestrian walking to who knows where.  It all seemed so normal, and yet so small, now.  I felt like I was in my own world and that these other people were nothing but illusions, cardboard cutouts of things that were unaware of me and I couldn't interact with.  Like computer controlled characters in some video game, running through their normal routines, oblivious to my personal dilemma.

            The air was brisk, winter was arriving, and I felt the cold through the white undershirt I was wearing.  No one looked at me when I passed them, no one mentioned the clunky-looking bulge at the small of my back that simply screamed, "concealed weapon".  It was as if we had all made some silent promise with each other not to become involved in each other's lives.  Individual entities walking around in our own little bubbles, refusing to even acknowledge that there are others around us.

            My building had taken on a new, foreboding look when I finally reached it.  Red and blue police lights winked from the distance, presumably from my wrecked car and the car full of dead men.  The lights cast flashes of deep shadow over the bricks, the moments of light emphasizing the black windows that stared out at me like eye sockets on a skull.  Maybe it was just the situation I found myself in, but my apartment building just looked plain evil at that moment.

            I didn't walk straight to it, in case someone WAS watching.  Instead I headed for the building a couple buildings down.  I knew for a fact that the building next to my apartment had a fire escape that ran right next to ours.  Ducking through the alleys, I climbed up the fire escape on one side of the building, crossed the roof, and began climbing down the fire escape on the other side.  All that climbing was starting to wear me out, my years away from the army starting to finally weigh on me.  Still, I was able to leap from the one fire escape to the other on the side of my building.  My room was on the other side of the building.  Carefully breaking in one of the windows, I made my way through the halls until I reached my door.

            There were no police guards, yellow tape, or chalk outlines, though I didn't really expect there to be.  Whoever these guys were, they didn't want the police involved.  They'd clean up their own messes whenever possible.  I continued to cautiously search my room, making sure to avoid crossing in front of the window.  Once satisfied that the apartment was empty I sat down in the corner by the door, where I would be sure to see anyone who came in before they saw me.  Leaning back against the wall, I allowed myself to relax a little.  I sat perfectly still, letting the silence push in around me, a comforting weight.  I didn't know what would happen, I didn't know what I would do if Jim didn't show.  Heck, I didn't know if I even wanted to bother running anymore.  But I WOULD keep running.  It was a human condition; survival.  Even people who think they WANT to die.  When they're actually face to face with death and they can feel it's breath on their face smelling of dirt, blood, and urine.  Even those people will want more.  They will fight for their lives, even if those lives are worthless.

_To be continued...._

_Okay, this time it wasn't my fault.  My computer had a major brain fart and I was unable to use it for almost two or three weeks.  Anyway, there's chapter 4 for you.  I won't say I hope to get the next one out sooner, because I said that about this one and look what happened._


	5. Mexican Standoff

_Chapter 5 is finally here. For all those who were holding their breath for me to update; I will send flowers to your widows and widowers._

**Past Evils**

Chapter 5 - Mexican Stand-off

I can't see myself. Something's wrong, I can feel it, but there's nothing to look in. No mirrors or reflective surfaces. I start to panic. I've got to see myself, find out what was wrong. I start clawing at the walls, my fingernails digging into the plaster. My fingers and knuckles turn bloody as I scratch away. A glint through the cracks renews my efforts. I peel away chunks of the wall, revealing the glassy surface underneath. I wipe away the debris, leaning towards the reflective surface trying to see my own face. What greets me is a leering skull, flesh picked clean off it, trails of blood running from its empty eye sockets.

I wake with a start, slamming the back of my head into the wall as I sit up suddenly. I must have dozed off. I rub my head painfully until it finally registers that the phone is ringing. Reaching over, I grabbed the receiver and answered.

"Steve, is that you?" Jim's voice came over the line, sounding rather agitated. "Where've you been? I went to the theater, but you weren't there. There are bullet holes in my seats and a strong smell of industrial strength cleaner on the carpet around it. What the hell is going on?"

"They found me at the theater, Jim," I answered, watching the door warily. "I killed him, but it sounds like they already cleaned up before you got there. Listen," I continued, cutting off his reply, "these soldiers. They're wearing the insignia of my old squad. That call sign should have been retired a long time ago."

"You're in some deep shit, buddy." I heard the rustling of papers as he spoke, "I dug up some information. They're not government, but it looks like ex-military. Whether it's some sort of political thing or if they're just free agents, I don't know. I've still got some people checking on it." He pauses a minute before continuing. "These guys are real pros, Steve. I've got to get you somewhere safe. If you still don't want to go to the cops, that's fine. I've got somewhere else, but we've got to get you off the streets."

"Hey, if they aren't government, I'll gladly go to the cops." I lean back against the wall, allowing myself a brief moment of relief. "Where should we meet?"

"The park," he answered immediately, "it's public enough, but still has plenty of places to duck into in case of trouble. Meet me under the memorial tree in about an hour." Sighing heavily as I hung up the phone, I closed my eyes, just sitting quietly for a few moments. My heart beat like a piston, slamming against my ribcage as if trying to break free. I breathed deeply, willing myself to calm down. After a few horrible hours alone in the darkness there was finally a light at the end. A safe haven from the terrors that clawed at my heels.

But, as an old drill sergeant of mine once said, relief in battle can kill you as surely as a bullet. My good fortune made me sloppy; I let my guard down and forgot about being quiet. I was reminded why I had been so cautious when entering the building as I reached for the handle. Two shots tore holes in my door, one missing me, the other continuing through my left shoulder. I fell to the floor, blood already soaking my shirt as the shooter burst through the door. Luckily he came in a little too far and I was able to kick his legs out from under him.

Not giving him a chance to recover I jumped at him, trying to ignore the pain in my shoulder. I was met with a knee to my gut and then a foot to my chin, sending me slamming back into the wall. I moved forward again, grabbing a chair as he rose and slamming it into his side, managing to knock away his rifle in the process. I swung again, but he was ready this time, grabbing the chair, using it to pull me forward, driving my face into his elbow.

I fell back, crashing onto the small table behind me, the wooden legs breaking under the force. I tried to pull myself back up, looking over to the soldier, fully expecting him to retrieve his weapon and finish the job. Once again, however, luck was on my side (sort of). Instead, he ignored the gun, apparently deciding to kill me with his own hands. He hauled me up by my shirt and sent me crashing through the glass doors onto my small balcony. Catching the railing to keep myself from collapsing, I looked down to the alleyway below. The world spun sickeningly around me as a roaring noise seemed to come from the ground far below me, shrieking at me in my final moments.

I was suddenly brought back to reality when the soldier grabbed me again, wrapping the curtain cord around my neck. My lungs began burning, screaming for air that wouldn't come. My mind now clear from desperation, I reached behind me, trying desperately to dislodge my attacker. All in vain. He was a professional and knew exactly what he was doing. The position I was in negated any escape attempts on my part. Flailing helplessly, I spun us around. Now facing the inside of my apartment my vision started to cloud, my small room starting to fade from view, much like my entire life seemed to be doing recently. Rage suddenly flooded my mind. I would not disappear quietly, some checkmark on a hit list.

Using the last of my strength I abruptly pushed backwards, taking the man by surprise. We stumbled back, the soldier's back slamming against the balcony's railing. I kept pushing, using the momentum and my own weight to tip us over the railing and send us falling towards the pavement below. I vaguely hear the cord snap as we fall, the pressure on my throat still denying me air. Things seem to go silent for a minute as I fall, my gaze fixed on the sky above me, the stars twinkling like bits of shattered glass.

Then we suddenly hit the dumpster by my building. The soldier is beneath me and I feel bones snap and flesh distort as his body breaks my fall. The force of the landing bounces me off the dumpster onto the cold cement. I lay there for awhile, wincing at what I'm sure is a broken rib or two. I finally push myself up, knowing I had to leave in case the dead soldier had a partner somewhere close by. Stumbling over, I searched the body quickly, pocketing his handgun and a couple clips. It was mostly habit, really. Looting dead men for weapons and ammo had been a necessity in most of my military operations, and it was almost instinct to search the body for supplies.

I stuck the gun in my waistband with the other one and edged to the end of the alley. I HAD to get to the park to meet Jim, but it was a little ways off, and going on foot was out of the question, especially in the condition I was in. Carefully sneaking into the parking garage, I went down the rows of cars, checking each door until I found one that was unlocked. Ignoring the several car alarms I had set off, I hastily pulled wires out from under the steering column, trying to remember how to hot wire it. It was another skill we had learned in the army while training for urban warfare, but it had been a long time and I couldn't quite remember it right. On my fourth try I got it right and the car came to life.

It's strange, the things that you think of at times. As I drove to the park I found myself thinking of action movies. Things always happened in quick succession in those movies. A car chase led to an explosion, which led to a gunfight, which led to over-the-top fight scenes. They never show the quiet moments, the times when the protagonist is left with nothing to do but listen to the silence around him. They never tell you how that silence presses on you, crushes you under it's weight until all you can do is concentrate on your own breathing lest you go insane.

The last few hours I had been feeling utterly lost, floundering in a sea of darkness without an escape. Truthfully, I had been real close to giving up. If not for the phone call from Jim, I'm not sure I would have even tried to escape the soldier in my apartment. Knowing that someone else was there to help me, someone who knew what was going on and had a way out for me made me feel like I was a part of the real world again. Things started to make sense again and soon I would be safe, free from the nightmare I had been stuck in.

It wasn't long before I found myself approaching the entrance to Middleton's city park. Taking the winding path down from the main road, I parked the car by the curb. The old tree was planted as a memorial to the man who started the park, Thomas Baines. It was rather large willow tree, its hanging branches providing perfect cover for picnics and just plain relaxing. Its large silhouette grew larger and larger as I made my way around the lake. The dark branches seemed to rise up as I approached, as if in greeting. The shadowed, foreboding shapes offering a strange kind of hope for better times.

"Steve," the hiss from the tree told me that Jim was already waiting for me. He came walking out from under the branches, his look of relief quickly turning to concern at my appearance. "Geez man, what happened to you?" Looking down at myself I realized I was quite a mess. The shot to my shoulder had spilled quite a bit of blood which had soaked most of the upper part of my shirt. I had several cuts on my face from the fight in my apartment and I could tell from the feel of my neck that it red and bruised.

"Had a little trouble back at my place," I replied, grimacing at another shot of pain in my side, "my own fault really. Wasn't careful enough."

"C'mon man, let's get you to the hospital," he moved to help me but I waved him off.

"Time for that later, what did you learn about these guys?" I had been going crazy the last few hours trying to come up with answers and now that they seemed within reach I found myself extremely impatient. Jim looked doubtful, but continued anyway.

"Well," he started, sighing a little, "like I told you on the phone, they're not a government operation. At least not that I can find. Your squad's call sign, Ghost Rats, WAS retired after you resigned, and the military's denying any knowledge of someone reviving it."

"So who are they?" I ran a hand through my hair, the events of the day finally starting to catch up with me.

"I can't say for certain," Jim continued, "but I did learn that..." He paused suddenly, his eyes focusing on something behind me as his hands pulled his gun from his shoulder holster. I turned, the fear that the soldiers had found us suddenly squeezing my gut in a fist of ice. As I turned, however, I found that Jim was not aiming at a soldier, but at Sidney Wilks.

"Wilks?" I hissed, "what are you doing here?"

"I, uh, followed you from your apartment," she caught the questioning look on my face. "Um, in my parent's car," she clarified, her eyes kept darting over to Jim. "Who is he?"

"You know this girl, Steve?" Jim asked, his gun still aimed at Wilks.

"Yeah, she's a student at the school," I turned back to Jim, "Wilks, this is Jim Palo. He's a detective with the police. He's..." I was suddenly cut off when I felt her hand brush my back as she pulled one of the guns from my waistband. My head whipped around, staring in shock as she began to raise the weapon towards Jim.

"HOLD IT!" Jim tightened the grip on his gun, causing Wilks' arm to pause. "Drop the weapon, now."

"Wilks, what are you doing?" I was getting a little ticked off, nothing seemed to be making sense. "I called him. He's helping me."

"He's going to shoot us." The statement was so simple, and calmly spoken that I almost thought I imagined it.

"I said, HOLD IT!" Jim repeated, as her arm moved upward a little more.

"What?" I looked back at Wilks. What was she talking about?

"He was at the school," she stated evenly, "I saw him." Her arm rose a little more.

"DON'T MOVE," Jim's voice held a dangerous edge to it as his finger visibly tightened on the trigger, "I WILL shoot you, if you don't put down the weapon, NOW." Things were spiraling out of hand quickly, I could see Wilks' hand squeeze the gun, her trigger finger twitching slightly.

"Just hold on," I stepped between them, my arms raised, trying to calm the situation.

"Steve, get out of the way."

"Jim, just..."

"He was with the soldiers at the school."

"I wasn't at any school."

"Calm down..."

"He's working for them, he'll kill us."

"Shut up and drop the gun."

"Wilks," I pleaded, facing her, "he's a friend of mine. I called him to help. He's found out some stuff about the people after me."

"Yeah, how?" Wilks' eyes narrowed, her arm rising a little more.

"I've got contacts..."

"MOB contacts," Wilks cut off Jim's answer.

"What?" I felt like I was asking that question a lot. "Mob? What are you talking about?"

"He's on the take," she answered, "He's been in their pocket for years. How do you think he affords to keep that theater?" I turn to Jim, waiting for him to deny it. One look in his eyes, however, confirms her every word. My stomach drops into my shoes as I see the confirmation in his face.

"Steve, listen. I..." he stumbles on his words as he tries to explain... what? We both know there's no explanation to give. "Steve, I'm not..." Whatever he was about to say is cut off as I feel Wilks move behind me. Everything seems to slow to a crawl as I watch her move out from behind me, the gun in her hand rising upward. I see Jim shift his aim to follow her, I see his finger squeezing the trigger.

"NO!"

I hear some one shout, and finally realize it was me. The three of us seem to be frozen, my own surprised expression mirrored in the other two people with me. Wilks looks from me to Jim, her arm still half raised. Jim stares back at me, even as I look in disbelief at him. A small cloud of smoke floats in front of my face, rising from the muzzle of the gun in my hand. I don't even remember drawing it, but its reality is a dead weight in my hand, reinforced as I watch Jim's eyes glaze over and collapse to the ground, blood soaking his shirt from the bullet hole in his chest.

For a couple minutes I can't move, then a noise to my right catches my attention. I look over to see one of the park's night watchmen stumble back from the bush he had been crouching behind. He stared, wide-eyed, at me for a second or two before turning and running. He was going to call the police. I should go to the police, be safe from the soldiers. But I shot Jim. Jim was a cop. I had shot Jim. I had shot a cop. My thoughts were coming in broken fragments, I couldn't think straight. I killed a cop. Cops were coming. I had to leave.

I doubted the guard was close enough to hear our conversation. All he had seen was me shoot someone. I would have to run. Run and hope that I could find some evidence or something that would tie Jim to the people trying to kill me. Shaking my head a little I forced my mind to clear itself.

"Come on," I grabbed the gun from Wilks' hand and pushed her in the direction of my stolen car. She stumbled for a moment, still in shock, but soon came to her senses and ran on her own. I knew I should have been more upset at Jim's apparent betrayal and the fact that I had just killed one of my only friends, but the weight of everything that was happening to me kept my mind numb. The light in the darkness that had filled me with new hope was gone. I was alone again. Lost, with no way out in sight. The grief at this realization stole the breath from my lungs and I was afraid I might black out right then and there. But I had to get Wilks to safety first. I ran on, even as the sound of sirens filled the air. Their wail like that of a banshee, foretelling the end of the world.

_Okay, I don't blame you if you're mad at me. It's been FOREVER since I updated. What can I say? Anyway, rest assured that I am sincere about finishing this story. I'm hoping to have a little more free time right now, so hopefully (crossing fingers) I won't be so late with the next chapter._


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